Foreign Invaders
by altwriter
Summary: It didn't even seem like a Fringe case at first.  But they called in the BAU anyway, and that's when things started to get messy.  People are being experimented on, and it looks like some of their own may be next. Post-'6B'.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or Fringe.

* * *

Author's Note: I was going to write this whole story before posting it, but that didn't happen. What I am going to do, though, is handwrite each chapter before I post it, so updates won't be too hasty, though I'll try not to keep you all waiting too long. And I know I'm working on a bunch of different stories right now, but I can't help the ideas that pop into my head. This'll be taking place post-'100' for Criminal Minds, of course, while JJ is still on the team. And, it'll be a bit AU for Fringe- while everything is still good between Peter and Walter, before he knows he's from the alternate universe, and there's still the romantic tension between him and Olivia. Hope you guys like it. The case might not seem like much of a Fringe case at first, but don't worry, it'll get better.

* * *

'Foreign Invaders'

Chapter One.

It was a cold day in Boston- the kind you'd rather spend wrapped up in a blanket beside a roaring fire, sipping hot chocolate, rather than trudging through thick, frosted foliage. But there the Fringe division was, standing in the midst of a crime scene square in the middle of a small bit of forest nearby a park that was normally rather crowded on warmer days.

Olivia Dunham, swathed in a navy blue windbreaker emblazoned with the gold initials 'F-B-I' stood with her hands shoved deep in her pockets. Having grown up in Jacksonville, Florida hadn't exactly aided her in building up a tolerance to the much-cooler weather of Massachusetts. But she'd lived in Boston long enough that she'd learn to deal with it. At her feet lay a corpse; a white male in his early thirties, shrouded from head-to-toe in a white sheet. Patrol officers and federal agents milled about, collecting evidence and snapping pictures of the scene. The sounds of the bustling city drifted through the trees, despite the fact that it was barely six in the morning. The call she'd received just an hour ago, courtesy of Agent Broyles, certainly had not be a welcomed one.

Behind her, there was the sound of scuffling footsteps, and soon both Bishops appeared at her side. Peter was on her left, bundled in a gray wool coat, with Walter on her right, tugging at the collar of his own winter jacket. It was lucky for them that no snow had fallen as of yet; it would've made this crime scene much worse than it already was.

" 'Morning, Liv," Peter greeted her, shooting a grin her way. Walter, having seemingly forgotten his formalities, had already peeled back the sheet and uncovered the corpse. "Another body, I see?"

She nodded, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips. "This is getting ridiculous. A third body, and yet we haven't made any progress with this case."

Walter whistled, beckoning to the two of them with one raised finger. "Look here, both of you." The victim was dressed in the same white scrubs as the other two had been, though Walter was focused on something else entirely. A second index finger directed their gaze to the crook of the victim's arm. It had bruised slightly; turning the skin to a light purplish-pink, and small, round depressions were evident in the flesh.

"Track marks," surmised Peter, sounding bored.

"That's right son," said Walter with a tilt of his head. Olivia knelt down beside the older man.

"So, this guy's been on experimented on just like the others."

"It seems so. I'll need this body taken back to my lab. I'll do some tests; hopefully we can find out what was put into his body. Perhaps it'll give us some insight into this case." He sounded optimistic, but Peter simply shrugged, turning round on his heel, dry leaves crunching under his boot.

"I don't think we'll be able to find out any more than we already have." And yet, despite his cynicism, Olivia's lips quirked upward, as if with a sudden epiphany, and he asked, "What is it?"

She turned to him, her smile growing wider. "I know who we can turn to for some help."

* * *

SSAIC Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, a rare look of incredulity plastered on his normally impassive mug. "JJ, I don't know. We've never dealt with a case like this before. I don't even know much about the division."

The media liaison was seated opposite him, his hands folded on top of a stack of manila folders. "The Fringe division is a multi-agency task force- Agent Olivia Dunham is a special agent on the team, and it's headed by Homeland Security Agent Phillip Broyles." He still looked doubtful. "Well, if you need more incentive, I know who can give you it." At his quizzical expression, she added, "Agent Dunham is here, with a colleague."

"A colleague?" JJ paused, flipping through one of the folders underneath her hands.

"Peter Bishop. He's a civilian consultant. They're both here. Do you want to speak to them?"

He nodded. "I'd like that."JJ scurried out of the room, and he laced his fingers together, his brows furrowing in thought. This was certainly one of the strangest cases his team had been presented with; more so, even, than the cannibal, or that dreadful Canadian ordeal at the pig farm. He hadn't heard much about the Fringe division, but he did know that the unit had become the butt of many jokes inside the bureau. Because their cases were so clandestine, no one really knew what went on, and that brought on a lot of suspicion and disbelief. But, Hotch did know that the bureau wouldn't fuss with the upkeep of a unit that did nothing. They must've been doing _something _right, then.

JJ returned, this time with the two others behind her. The skinny blonde with the serious face he knew had to be Agent Dunham. The other, a slightly stocky, thirtyish year old man, was presumably Peter Bishop. Hotch got to his feet, stretching out a hand to shake both of theirs. Olivia had a surprisingly strong grip.

"Agent Dunham," he said, a smile ghosting his features, if only for the sake of appearing welcoming. "It's nice to meet you."

"Same to you, Agent Hotchner," she replied, her voice even. She pointed with her thumb towards her companion. "This is Peter Bishop, a civilian consultant for the division."

"So I've heard. Nice to meet you, Mr. Bishop." Hotch straightened up, clasping his hands in front of his body. "Now, Agent Jareau has given me some details of the case. But what I need to know Is this: how can the BAU help?"

Olivia's lips pressed together into a thin line before she spoke. "We can handle the science of it all. What we need is for your team to help us find out who's doing this. A profile could really help us in finding this guy." She smiled tightly. "We're at a dead end here. We're a bit desperate, to be honest."

Hotch plucked the file that JJ had given him from his desk before turning to the liaison. "Gather the team in the conference room. We have a case."

Peter and Olivia shared a brief flash of excitement.

* * *

It was clear as soon as the two of them stepped into the BAU's conference room just how professional this all seemed. They worked out of the high tech Academy, while the Fringe division was based in the bowels of Harvard University, with a cow and a near-senile, ex-psychiatric ward patient. But, then again, in comparison to the BAU, the Fringe division was still in its infancy The team was more polished as well; the traditional, suit-clad G-man as their Unit Chief, and JJ, the tiny, yet tenacious blonde that they now knew to be the media liaison. Surrounding the conference table were mostly unfamiliar faces, save for that of the exalted David Rossi. They were introduced to the rest of them; the exotic, raven-haired beauty that was Emily Prentiss, tough guy Derek Morgan, and the awkward, shaggy-haired Dr. Spencer Reid. Once the introductions were finished, Hotch started in.

"Agent Dunham with the Fringe division has requested our help with a case." He glanced over to the two, and Olivia quickly opened her mouth to continue,

"We're dealing with victims of various ages, genders, and races; the only thing they have in common is that they all live in Boston. They were kidnapped from the city by an unknown person, or persons. We've done autopsies; the victims had been pumped full of various drugs, though we're not sure of a reason why yet. We're on our third victim, though there are quite a few missing persons cases in the city, and we don't know how many people are being held at one time. We think they're the subjects of experimentation, though there were also indications of physical assault. We're on our third victim, though there are quite a few missing persons cases in the city, and we don't know how many people are being held at one time.""

"Hm, that's strange," murmured Reid, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers, staring off into space. Peter cocked his head to the side, his brows coming together as he said,

"We specialize in the strange. This is nothing new; it's actually mundane compared to some of the things we've seen."

"No, no. That's not what I was talking about."

"Well, spit it out then, kid," prompted Morgan, irritation permeating his tone.

"You would think that UNSUBs performing experimentation would be solely mission-based, and yet, there appears to be some aspects of sadism as well."

JJ loaded the case files into her arms. "Well, it looks like there's no time to waste them, huh? We'd better get to work."

Hotch nodded his assent. "Wheels up in twenty."

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Author's Note: More of a teaser than a real chapter- don't worry, the rest will be longer. What do you think so far?


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or Fringe.

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Chapter Two.

"Jeeze, I wish we had one of these," chuckled Peter softly, as both he and Olivia boarded the jet. Their Academy headquarters had certainly been nice, but they hadn't expected anything this luxurious. The two took seats nearer to the front of the plane, while the BAU sat themselves in their norm that was the little grouping of seats at the back, closer to the bathrooms and tiny kitchenette. It was obvious, even to the non-profilers onboard, that they were unused to others invading their airborne sanctuary. Olivia still felt some anxiety, though the only outward expression of emotion she displayed were her fingers _tap-tapping _on the armrest. Meanwhile, the BAU had fallen into their usual routine. Emily and Reid were skimming through a book of their choice [Reid at a much quicker pace, of course], Morgan had his headphones on, blocking out the world, Hotch and JJ flipped through the case files, and Rossi was watching the newcomers from the corner of his eye.

Peter crossed his arms, ignoring the nosy older agent, and instead turned to Olivia. "So," he said with a smirk, "did you ever want to be in the BAU?"

Her eyebrows rose towards her hairline. "_Everyone _wants to be in the BAU, at some point," she snorted. "It's all a matter of who gets in." She made a small gesture towards the group. "They're the best of the best at what they do. It takes a lot of work to even qualify for the position."

His brows furrowed at her statement. "So, do you doubt your abilities?"

She shook her head. "No, no. But, when we started with all of this, I was still too young to even think about applying for the job. There weren't any openings, anyway." She shrugged. "I'm happy where I am, if that's even the right word to use." A chuckle escaped from between her lips, lathered with sarcasm.

Peter grinned. "I understand. The things we deal with, well..I don't know if it'd be anyone's first choice to be working with."

Once the plane had settled at a comfortable altitude of thirty thousand feet, JJ gestured with her index finger to the two. "If you two could just come over this way, we're going to continue the briefing on the case." With a simultaneous nod, they stood, making their way closer to the profilers. Emily and Hotch scooted over to make room for them, and once everyone was situated, the Unit Chief began,

"Now, as Reid already said, we're probably dealing with more than just two mission-oriented offenders here. While the Fringe Division can deal with the specifics of the drugs that are being introduced to the victims' bodies, we'll have to figure out what type of people could be doing this."

Olivia cleared her throat, and all eyes were on her. "Now that I think of it, there are some details that I hadn't mentioned before that may be of use to all of you. The victims have been dumped in the more forested areas of the city, and they had all been dressed in white scrubs, with ligature marks on their wrists and ankles."

"So, this guy, or guys, is extremely organized," said Emily, flipping through the case file that lay open on her lap.

Peter shifted in his seat, leaning forward a bit. "You think that because of the degree of uniformity with the victims, right?"

She looked mildly surprised. "Yes. Both the ligature marks and the scrubs indicate that the UNSUBs would like to have complete control over their victims. The scrubs may be for sterilization reasons, _or_, they may be a part of a dehumanization process."

"What about the victims?" inquired Morgan, his query resonating throughout the plane.

"Varied ages and genders. Two were male, one was female. One of the males were in his early-twenties, the other in his late-forties, and the woman was in her mid-thirties. The only similarity between them is that they each were in pretty good physical condition, and that they resided in Boston," said Olivia.

"This looks like it may be some type of dominant-submissive partnership," Rossi mused, "though I think that, in this case, it may be the submissive partner that is sadistic. The dominant would be the ring-leader, handling most of the experimentation. The submissive partner would get a kick out of knocking around the victims when he's alone with them."

Hotch shuffled some papers, disturbing the silence as everyone processed what had just been said aloud, Finally, he spoke, "We'll be landing soon. Mr. Bishop, would it be alright with you were to take Dr. Reid to your father's lab? I think he may be able to provide some insight."

Peter nodded. "That'd be fine."

"Good. And Reid, I'd like you to work on a geographic profile as well. JJ, make sure the press stays away from this case. It's not exactly something we need in the news. Morgan and Rossi, I'd like for you two to go with Agent Dunham to the latest dump site- if that's alright with you."

"Of course. I'm happy to be of assistance any way I can."

"Take a look around, see if you can see anything else out of place. The fact that our UNSUB is dumping the victims in more secluded areas also points to the idea of being organized. Emily and I will speak to the witnesses that came upon the scene, and the officers that were the first on the scene. Hopefully, we'll be able to figure this out before anyone else goes missing, or another body turns up."

"Well, wouldn't it make sense that someone would have to go missing _before _the body turns up?" murmured Reid, his hand twitching against his thigh. Rossi cocked a brow.

"Not unless these UNSUBs have taken more than one victim at a time."

"This isn't the time to be arguing about that kind of stuff, guys," said Morgan, when what he really wanted to say was, _Shut up, you two. _But that wouldn't have been very professional of him, would it?

* * *

To say the least, Reid was ecstatic about the whole premise of the case. Though he would've never admitted it to, say, Morgan [or perhaps he would've?], he'd been following the Fringe division's cases for a while now, though there wasn't much media coverage. While the nation had some sort of morbid fascination with serial killers, which drew in the press like nothing else, stories about a whole bus full of people dying with no explanation were not exactly what the public wanted to hear about. At least, he didn't _think _anyone would.

They'd left the plane, gathered their luggage, and headed off their separate ways. Now, the young doctor sat in the passenger seat of a black, FBI standard-issue SUV manned by Peter Bishop. It was a rather awkward car ride; neither of them had talked much, so that the only sounds filtering through the car was that of the heater, and some sort of jazz music drifting from the speakers. The first words out of Peter's mouth after nearly ten minutes did nothing to quell the small amount of anxiety Reid felt about all of this.

"You're pretty young for a Behavioral Analysis Agent, aren't you?" Reid shrugged, shifting a bit awkwardly in his seat.

"I graduated from high school when I was twelve," he replied, as if that was a sufficient enough answer. Peter's eyebrows rose.

"Well, that's impressive." They had now arrived at the Harvard campus, and pulled into a space in front of the Kresge Center. Reid followed Peter into the bowels of the building, down a dark hallway and through a doorway, into a rather large room filled with miscellaneous objects and machinery, including, surprisingly enough, a cow.

"Walter?" Peter called out, and the response came:

"Peter, is that you?" After he gave an affirmation to the query, the voice continued, "Oh, good! I was just working on something that I must tell you about!"

"I have someone here with me," said Peter, Reid trailing along behind as they made their way through the maze-like laboratory.

"Well, then he can see too."

"I sure hope this is pertinent to the case, Walter." They found the older man bent over the body of the latest victim, peering at the crook of the victim's arm, a red candy hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"It is!" Walter looked up, his face breaking into a grin as he held out a latex-gloved hand to Reid. "Walter Bishop, very nice to meet you."

Peter pushed Walter's hand away. "I don't think Agent Reid wants to shake the hand you were just probing that body with."

Reid smiled tightly. "Yeah, uh, thanks." He titled his head towards Walter to acknowledge the greeting, nonetheless. "I'm _Dr._ Spencer Reid."

"Agent? Doctor?" Walter's eyes narrowed as he studied the younger genius's face. "Quite impressive titles for such a young man."

Peter smirked, chuckling a bit. "We've already gone over this. Now, what'd you find?"

"Ah, yes." Walter turned back to the body, pointing with his index finger to the crook of the man's arm. "Now, look here. You see the track marks?" Both younger men nodded, and he continued, "I've studied the physical condition of this man's body just before the time of his death. I appears that he had been injected multiple times with a psychoactive drug, or psychotropic."

"Mind-altering drugs," mused Reid, his brows furrowing.

Walter grinned, and nodded. "Yes. Much like marijuana or LSD..But what this man was injected with seems to be mixtures of different types. Most recently, stimulants, though there were still traces of some forms of depressants in his bloodstream."

Reid straightened up, frowning. "But, why? This is most likely a case of human experimentation, but what could they be testing, besides the obvious?"

"It's unclear at the moment," agreed Walter. "It could be numerous things: attempts at mind control, mind suppressants.."

They were all silent, processing this information, until Reid spoke up once more. "Dr. Bishop, are these drugs readily available? Would it be easy for the public to get a hold of them?"

"Not necessarily, no." Walter looked slightly perplexed. "Though, I can get mostly anything I need."

The corners of Reid's lips quirked upward. "If you can get me the names of the drugs, I can have our technical analyst run them through the system, and see exactly how someone could've gotten them. It could help us narrow down our search parameters."

Walter clapped his hands. "Brilliant! I'll get on that right away."

Peter had watched the whole scene unfold before him with amusement. It seemed that the two doctors, despite the age different, got along quite well. This was going to be interesting.

* * *

To Emily, it seemed as if Hotch were almost amused by the situation. That emotion emanating from him was surprising in itself, doubled by the fact that it was in correlation with a case. She could understand his cynicism; the subjects that the Fringe Division got themselves involved in were very much out-there. At least Olivia and Peter seemed nice enough, if not slightly intimidated.

They'd been given the address of the mother of the latest victim, who luckily lived in Boston as well. That was where they were heading in their SUV at the moment. The victim's father had died in circumstances not nearly as strange as his son's; he'd been hit by a drunk driver.

"Doesn't this all seem a bit surreal?" she murmured, peering at Hotch through the corner of her eye. His jaw was set, and he seemed to be having an internal debate on exactly how to answer her question. When after a few seconds he did not reply, she continued, "I mean, the cases they've worked on. The Birmingham flight, and the like…Even with what we deal with, no matter how horrible it is, it's believable, for the most part. But the Fringe Division is like the Area 51 of the bureau."

Hotch nodded, though his knuckles, clenched over the steering wheel, had turned white. "The Fringe Division isn't well-accepted by any of the federal agencies- FBI, Homeland Security, even the CIA is involved, though no one likes to admit it. They deal with classified information; things that public normally doesn't find out about." He shrugged. "_Our _unit is still viewed skeptically by some people. I just hope taking the case doesn't hurt us."

The conversation halted as he steered the SUV into the parking lot of a large, rather fancy apartment building. After flashing their badges to the concierge, they ascended the stairs to the third floor of the building, to apartment 358. At Emily's second knock on the door, a bleary-eyed, cotton robe-swathed woman of about sixty or so, with frazzled gray hair, answered the door.

"Mrs. Reyes?" said Hotch, and the woman nodded. "I'm Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Prentiss. We're with the FBI. May we come in? We need to speak to you."

"FBI?" She sounded half-wary, half-incredulous. "What is this about?"

"Please, ma'am," said Emily, "I think it would be best for us to come inside first." They followed the woman inside, and she led them into a small living area, complete with a beige loveseat, two armchairs, and a television in the corner. The decorations and furnishings were neutral colors, and frankly, it was quite boring. Mrs. Reyes sat herself in one of the armchairs, so Emily and Hotch decided to take the loveseat, albeit with slight awkwardness. The couch was quite small, and their knees were touching when they sat down. Perhaps that hadn't been a good idea, but playing musical chairs in the soon-to-be-grieving woman's living room certainly did not scream professionalism.

"Now, can you please tell me what's going on?" Mrs. Reyes prompted for the second time, her hands folded, her eyes narrowed with both curiosity and suspicion.

Hotch and Emily glanced at each other, before Hotch replied, "We're here to speak about your son, David."

"What about my son? He didn't do anything, he couldn't…"

"Mrs. Reyes, your son's body was found yesterday morning."

Her hands flew to her mouth. "He's dead?" Hotch nodded solemnly, and the woman broke down sobbing. Emily moved to the woman's side, placing a soothing hand on her back.

"We're so sorry," she said softly, and Hotch nodded his assent. "Mrs. Reyes, we think your son may have been murdered."

"Murdered?" she wailed.

"Yes. I know this is all happening so fast, but do you think you'll be able to answer some questions from us? You might be able to help us catch whoever did this."

* * *

Derek Morgan was used to the cold. What he was _not _used to was the eerie chill that settled in his bones once the three of them set foot in the forest that was the dump site of the latest victim. Olivia led the way, then him, and Rossi followed at the rear. The dump site was in a clearing, still cordoned off by caution tape.

"Well, here it is," announced Olivia, when they approached the perimeter. "I already looked around when I was here earlier, but I guess you guys are trained to look at it differently." Morgan nodded, but the two BAU agents were otherwise silent as they took it all in. Nothing looked amiss; there were no strange markings on the ground, no syringes hidden in the foliage. Nothing that would point them to the person, or persons, that had deposited the body there.

"You know, it'd be hard for any person to carry a full-grown man through the forest," mused Rossi, his brows furrowed. "There are no tire tracks, and yet, there's no evidence that the victim was dragged either. Our UNSUB would need help getting him here."

Morgan nodded. "More evidence that says we're dealing with a team."

"And they probably dumped the body at night," added Olivia, "because the surrounding park gets pretty crowded during the day, even in the wintertime. It'd be too obvious what they were doing if they did it in broad daylight."

"Still, I would think that it would take a lot of gall to take a body through that park, even at night," said Rossi. "I'm sure some people are in the park early in the morning, whether they're homeless or not. They must know the area; know how to get in an out quickly, without much of a ruckus."

"I'll call Garcia," said Morgan. "Hopefully, the rest of the team has found out more information, and we'll be able to compile it all to create some type of suspect list."

* * *

Author's Note: I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update. I'm extremely busy, but I'll try to get the next chapter out a bit faster. This case has a lot of details, and it's hard to make sure I include everything. But thank you to everything who is reading, reviewing, etc. Don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter, and, as always, suggestions, etc. are welcome as well!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

* * *

Chapter Three.

The motley crew had gathered in Walter's basement laboratory; not exactly a familiar setting for the BAU, yet it somehow seemed more homey. But the cow certainly added to the already-strange atmosphere, as did the body that Walter Bishop was bent over as he nibbled on a piece of stringy red candy. The BAU team surveyed the scene with half-amusement, half-disgust. Peter, Olivia, and Astrid, on the other hand, were unaffected.

Hotch crossed his arms, settling into a wide-legged stance, as he prepared to speak. "Prentiss and I were unable to make any new discoveries. The latest victim's mother didn't provide us with any useful information, and there were no witnesses. What about everyone else?" He looked to his right at Rossi. "Dave? What did your group find?"

"Just more evidence pointing to the probability that we're dealing with a team." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing good."

Olivia nodded, and then stepped forward to add her own thoughts. "I'd say we're dealing with at _least_ three people, though. Two people to carry the body through the forest to the clearing, and a third to keep watch. Perhaps a couple more back at their headquarters to watch over the remaining victims, if they're keeping more than one at a time." Hotch looked impressed. Peter noticed this, and rolled his eyes, before he said,

"Walter and Dr. Reid have some interesting information to share, I think."

Reid nodded, and glanced at Walter, but the older man seemed immersed in his current duties, and so began to speak himself. "Dr. Bishop gave me the names of the drugs that had been injected into the victims, and I sent those over to Garcia. The drugs wouldn't be easy for the general public to gain access to. She's going to see if she can find out who in the area has recently gotten a hold of them, and perhaps we can track our UNSUBs that way."

"They may be operating under a ruse," interjected Morgan, a pensive look on his handsome mug. "Maybe some type of pharmaceutical company. Where else would they be able to keep all of their equipment, along with their victims, without attracting unwanted attention?"

Emily did not take this question as rhetorical. "An abandoned warehouse?"

"Well, we may have an easier time tracking our UNSUBs, rather than the location they operate from," said Hotch. "At least one of them is comfortable with Boston; that's why they take all of their victims from there." His eyes darted to JJ. "Were you able to get a hold of the press? I don't want this case all over the news. It'll create a mass hysteria."

The liaison grimaced. "I tried, Hotch. Most of them agreed not to broadcast anything at all, but a few of the larger news stations weren't so understanding. They haven't done anything as of yet, but..we'll have to be careful about leaking anything to the public."

Peter was tapping his foot on the floor impatiently, and had been doing so for the last five minutes. "So, what now?" he asked, cocking a brow.

The members of the BAU seemed at a loss for words. Hotch's lips had pressed into a thin line, and he looked unhappy. Peter wondered when he did not.

"Our technical analyst will keep searching, and we can give our profile to the local PD, so they know what to look for as well," said Hotch finally, sounding as firm as always. He did not want to admit that they were at just as much of a loss as the Fringe division was at the moment. These UNSUBs were good. Almost _too _good.

#

"Some help that did." It was the first words out of Peter's mouth once the BAU had funneled from Walter's laboratory, some headed for the police station to give the profile, the others to the hotel to set up there.

"We're making more progress than we would've if we hadn't called them in," Olivia retorted, too optimistically for Peter's taste.

He shrugged. "That's debatable."

Walter shuffled toward them, a piece of candy still stuck in the side of his mouth. "On the contrary, I found Dr. Reid quite engaging to speak to. He's a very bright young man. Much like yourself, Peter."

Peter's brows rose at the comparison. "Sure, Walter."

The door swung open again, and in came Astrid, looking flustered. "I'm back, I'm back!" In her arms, she carried three large plastic bags, and Olivia wordlessly stepped in to help her. Astrid had been gone for a couple of days now, for some training, and it seemed as though even before she stepped foot back in the lab, Walter had already put her to work.

"More cravings?" said Olivia, with a small chuckle, as she set the bags down on an empty table. Walter was immediately drawn to them, and began rummaging through them without even a 'thank you'. Astrid nodded, and Peter sighed.

"It's nice to see you back, and I'm sorry Walter's already got you on the food delivery job again."

Astrid shrugged. "It's nothing new. It's nice to be back, anyway." She glanced around the lab, and spotted the extra chairs that had been brought up while the BAU had been visiting. "What's been going on in here? Another case?"

Olivia nodded, pulling up a seat. "Yeah."

And Peter added, "Not as if we're managing to do much good. Olivia thought it'd be a good idea to bring the BAU in, and—"

"The BAU?" interrupted Astrid, her jaw coming loose. "As in, the Behavioral Analysis Unit?" Olivia again nodded. "Wow, impressive. This must be a pretty important case, then."

"It is," agreed Olivia. "Human experimentation. Random people are being abducted in the city, and then turning up a while later. We have no idea who, where, or why."

"And the BAU hasn't helped much," said Peter.

"There I have to disagree, son," Walter said, through a mouthful of whatever he'd found in the bag Astrid had brought along with her. "Dr. Reid actually helped me make some progress in identifying the drugs in our victim's system. I believe that, in due time, they'll be able to help us catch these killers."

"I sure hope you're right, Walter."

#

"I don't think Mr. Bishop likes us very much." Those were Reid's first words as he, Morgan, and JJ clambered into an SUV. Emily, Rossi, and Hotch had taken a second. The latter group was headed to the precinct to give the profile to local police—albeit, with much of the details omitted. The only information they were giving the locals was that they were looking for a group of men abducting people from the city without regard to discrimination, and that they should keep an eye out for any suspicious activity, especially around secluded areas. The details regarding the human experimentation and the drugs had to be kept quiet.

JJ laughed from her spot in the back. "Yeah, why do you think that?"

"Well, you'd think that we should be skeptic of what they do," he said, "but, Peter Bishop seems skeptical of _us_."

"Kid, he doesn't seem like the type of guy that trusts anyone very easily," Morgan said with a smirk, as he steered them out onto the street. They watched as the second SUV in front of them made a right turn, then they went to the left, headed for the hotel. It was getting late, and it would neither them nor the case any good if they were all sleep-deprived while working. "I wouldn't be too worried about it."

"I'm not." Reid sounded like a stubborn child. "I'm just worried that we won't be able to catch these guys before they get another victim. We don't even know how many the UNSUBs already have, or how long this has been going on. They could've been travelling, doing this in other places—Garcia should be able to get back to us on that, though, once she's finished running the case details through ViCAP."

"Spence, I wouldn't worry about it so much." JJ's voice was soothing, though he knew her calmness was merely a façade. She was just as anxious as him, though she was doing a better job of hiding it. "We're doing what we can. We've had cases like this before—we'll get it eventually."

Morgan nodded. "JJ's right." He paused. "But, do you know what seems strange? None of them are even the least bit phased by all of this. I mean, human experimentation? Yeah, we've dealt with it before, but not like this. Not anything as organized as this. I think that's why we're having such trouble. But the Fringe division already seems to know exactly what we're dealing with, and I wonder if they're hiding anything from us."

"What could they possibly be hiding?" JJ scoffed.

Morgan shrugged. "I don't know. Some kind of conspiracy? Maybe these UNSUBs are part of some group that the Fringe division has been dealing with for a while, and now they've finally got us in on it too, only they're hiding the details from us because it's confidential." He sighed. "Listen, all I'm trying to say is: Do we really know what we're getting into?" He glanced at Reid, who sat staring at him, his brows raised. JJ's mouth was agape, and there was a long silence, until she said at last,

"Alright, Morgan, now you're the one sounding crazy. And remember, we're working with a guy that spent seventeen years in a psychiatric facility."

#

It would be an understatement to say that the detectives and officers they'd given the profile too were somewhat skeptic over the whole case. They had a right to be—the profile was vague, and when prompted, none of the agents were able to say anything further. As the three were leaving, headed to their SUV, Emily said,

"We've never had to do that before."

"Do what?" said Hotch, giving her an odd look, before strapping himself into the driver's seat. Rossi got himself into the front passenger side, and Emily slid into the back.

"Leave out details from the profile."

"Well, we've never worked a case like this before," Rossi reminded her. "But we have to play by the Fringe division's rules if we want to stay on the case. I mean, human experimentation? I don't think I'd want to know the truth about that anyway, if I were them."

Emily shrugged. "It's just..strange."

"You know, there's a lot of people that would say that about what _we _do."

"But," said Hotch, "I don't think there's anyone that _wouldn't_ say that about the Fringe division."

Rossi pressed his lips together and nodded. Hotch was right; he couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't be at least somewhat perturbed by the cases the Fringe division dealt with. At least the BAU had some experience with crimes that were particularly gruesome and odd, though he was sure it wouldn't be able to compare to the cases he really preferred not to know the details of that their friends down in the basement of Harvard worked.

* * *

Author's Note: I cannot apologize enough for how long it took me to update this. I've had school, along with working on some larger, original projects, and it caught up with me, along with the fact that my muse kind of wandered away on this one. But, I promise you, it's back, and I'll have updates out much more quickly. This won't be a long story, and I'll try to get it finished up as fast as possible. And the story will begin to pick up in the next couple of chapters as well. Thank you to everyone who has been waiting [probably not-so-] patiently, and to everyone who read the last couple of chapters and reviewed.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds.

* * *

Author's Note: I've changed my mind. This story will no longer be pre-'Jacksonville', but post-'6B'. Why? Because I like to jam as much Polivia goodness as I can into everything, and so, Polivia will furthermore be an established relationship. This won't change anything previously posted in the story, so no need to worry about re-reading anything—it'll only change how I'll continue writing from here. I'm sure no one will be opposed to this choice, hm?

* * *

Chapter Four.

It was not quite four in the morning when Olivia's phone rang, buzzing on her bedside table and waking her up with a start. It was Broyles.

"There's another victim."

Her voice was thick with sleep. "Already?"

"Two of them, actually. Get the Bishops—I'll handle having the BAU meet you there."

"Where are the bodies?"

"Boston Common."

"Give me fifteen minutes."

Within minutes, Olivia managed to phone Peter and tell him she'd be picking up him and Walter, dress, and run out the door. They did have a sort of stoppage upon her arrival at the Bishop household, because Walter had become preoccupied with something on the way out of the house, and Peter had to pry him away and nearly drag him out the door. Olivia's face was red with suppressed laughter at Peter's bemoaning.

All laughter had dissipated, though, when the SUV drew up to the crime scene, greeting a row of yellow tape, and three of the BAU agents waiting in front, huddled in a circle against the onslaught of snow that had begun early that morning.

"Did they sleep here or something?" grumbled Peter, clambering from the car. Olivia chuckled.

"Son, that is highly unlikely—" began Walter, but Peter had already moved far up ahead, trailing behind Olivia.

"So," began Olivia, once they had reached the group, consisting of Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch, "what do we have here?"

"Two bodies this time," said Hotch, and they all now travelled toward the bodies. The area had been cordoned off, hidden from the public, and crime scene unit members milled about, photographing the scene and searching for evidence. "They're also dressed in the white scrubs, as were the other victims, though the cause of death is unclear."

Walter had caught up with them, and perked up at Hotch's words. "If I could have the bodies transported back to my lab, I'm sure I would be able to figure it out. Though, it's quite possible it's a similar mixture of hallucinogenic drugs and psycho—"

"Walter, I think we've got the point." Peter stared at his father, a warning look on his face. Walter immediately quieted down, suddenly aware of the tangent he'd nearly gone off on.

Prentiss squatted down beside one of the bodies—a forty-something year old female. She reached out with a latex-gloved hand, her long fingers plucking at the victim's wrist. "Ligature marks."

Morgan nodded. "Just like the others."

"But why the increasing number of victims, in such a short time span?" said Olivia with a frown, pulling the hat further down atop her ears. The wind was starting up, and they'd had to move the bodies soon, or else their conditions would become compromised in the inclement weather.

Hotch's eyes stayed focused on the bodies as he spoke. "Our UNSUBs are escalating. We can't be sure why, though. They might've seen on the news that we've been brought in on the case, and feel pressured because of it."

Peter rolled his eyes, and murmured, mostly to Olivia, "Of course, they're not intimidated by the Fringe Division, only the Big Bad BAU."

"I think this is enough we can learn from the bodies here," continued Hotch, "and it doesn't seem like there was anything left at the crime scene."

"Not a surprise," said Emily.

Olivia had opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the ringer of her cell phone. She excused herself, and moved toward the perimeter of the yellow tape to take the call.

"Dunham."

"It's Broyles. You're at the crime scene?"

"Just finishing up, actually."

He sounded mildly surprised—_mildly._ "That was fast. But I'll need you to come back to the federal building. Bring Hotchner with you, I'd like to speak to you and him both. One of the others, too, if you'd like."

"Is something wrong?"

"You have nothing to worry about, Dunham." He disconnected the call.

#

Morgan had gone with Peter and Walter to the lab, with the two bodies. Walter was quite enthusiastic about having two bodies to examine, and Peter had a (not-quite-so) nice time dealing with him. Meanwhile, Olivia, Hotch, and Prentiss had loaded into her SUV, and were headed for the federal building, as per Broyle's orders.

The ride was quite. There wasn't much to talk about, seeing as Walter would need to do an examination of the bodies before they would have any new information for the case, and Olivia was glad that the other two didn't seem to feel the need for small talk. She thought it unnecessary as well; there wasn't much to talk about, not when dealing with something as terrible as these abductions. She wasn't in much of a mood to talk, either, as her stomach had twisted itself into a knotted loop with anxiety as she mulled over Broyle's reasoning for asking her to the federal building. Sure, he'd told her not to worry. But, would his simple words satisfy her? No. She knew that something was up.

He was waiting for them in his office, arms crossed on his desk, dark eyes focused on nothing in particular, until they walked in the door. He stood up immediately.

"Agent Hotchner," he said, shaking his hand first. He then turned to Prentiss, nodded to her, shook her hand as well. "Agent Prentiss." Then, a smaller nod was directed to Olivia, and he said her name as well in greeting.

Olivia clasped her hands in front of her body. "So, what's this about?"

"I understand you haven't made much progress with the case since the BAU's arrived." Broyles expression remained deadpan, though Hotch did break through his own stoic exterior to cock a brow.

"It's been only a couple of days, sir," began Prentiss, and Hotch continued,

"This is a difficult case, Agent Broyles, you must know that."

"Yes, I do. But, I allowed Agent Dunham to bring your team here because I thought you'd act as an asset to the Fringe Division. But, I haven't seen any evidence that this is true. No, we only have two new victims, and what to show for it beside that?"

Olivia looked a bit awestruck. She apparently hadn't been expecting Broyles to lash out in such a way.

"They've been helping—just because we haven't been able to come up with a suspect yet doesn't mean we—"

Broyles shook his head, effectively cutting her off with a simple glare. "This is a waste of our time, and of resources. I'm sure your team has other cases you can be working on, Agent Hotchner."

Olivia stepped forward, her voice stern. "The manpower is what we need. We're dealing with a group, and we can't do this on our own."

"There are tactical teams available."

"Not with the BAU's expertise."

"But why would you need that?"

"Because, Agent Broyles," said Hotch, closing the distance between himself and Broyles so that there were mere inches between them, "if you'd allow us to return to work, we'd be able to work up a suspect list. We've already determined that we're dealing with a group, with people with access to certain types of drugs. Once your Dr. Bishop is able to determine the specifics, we can have our technical analyst cross-reference the information with everything else we have. We're not miracle workers, Agent Broyles. But, I promise you, we _will_ help find whoever is doing this. We will have something to show for our work; you don't have to worry about that."

A muscle twitched in Broyle's neck. "You have twenty-four hours to show me something, _anything_, to prove you've gotten closer to finding out who's doing this."

"You'll have it."

Broyles went to the door, and Hotch and Prentiss quickly stepped out into the hall, though he kept Olivia inside with him for a moment. They could already hear the two begin to talk as he once again closed the door.

"I'm not sure what prompted this—" said Olivia, and Broyles interrupted,

"I don't think the BAU's success rate is as high as you think."

"They've been helpful. I don't know why you have such a problem with them."

"Let's just say I know more about the unit than you do, and I know that they aren't always able to solve the cases."

"Who is? We have unsolved cases all the time. Why are you so hesitant about allowing them to continue to work with us?"

He avoided the question, instead saying, "Just make sure you don't get sidetracked. Keep me updated."

Olivia wondered if perhaps Broyles had had some kind of feud with the BAU, or any of its members, in the past. She remembered that he hadn't taken too kindly to her at first, and maybe this was a similar situation. Hotch, though, was silently fuming as the three made their way back to the car. Olivia wanted to apologize, but she was unsure of what to say. Of course they'd be offended, after their help on the case had been questioned. But, they must've dealt with people like this all the time—the Fringe Division dealt with skeptics, too. Broyles seemed to have hit a nerve.

#

"No, no. That doesn't make sense. If you triangulated the points, knowing that the UNSUBs' comfort zone rests within Boston, then why would it end up there?"

"The points are too widespread to make much sense. It doesn't seem as if there is any real correlation—"

The three of them walked in on Reid and Astrid huddled around a map of Boston, bickering away about the geographic profile they'd been working on. Gene mooed dully from her corner of the room, then turned her large head to blink at the newcomers.

"We have bodies!" said Walter, scurrying toward the center of the room. A couple of technicians wheeled the victims in on gurneys, the looks of awe on their faces not well-disguised. Morgan's expression was quite similar as he asked,

"Where's JJ?"

Reid fingered the marker in his hand, still glaring at the map with disdain. "Handling the press. It seems they've finally caught on, but JJ wants to keep the media as far away from the case as possible." He paused. "Where's everyone else?"

"Hotch, Prentiss, and Agent Dunham went to the federal building." Morgan looked at Peter. "Do you have any idea what it's about?"

Peter shrugged. "No idea." He frowned, and looked at the clock on the wall. "I don't know why it's taking so long, either. I'll call her." He took his phone from his pocket, and started toward the side office for some respite from the banging noises that now filled the lab as Walter began rummaging through some drawers, murmuring to himself. Morgan looked somewhat lost, though Reid had again immersed himself within the map.

Olivia picked up on the second ring. "Dunham."

"Hey, 'Liv, it's Peter. How'd the talk with Broyles go?"

"About as well as you'd expect when he's in one of his bad moods."

"Oh, so pretty well then, huh?" He chuckled, and heard her laugh quietly along with him. Warmth flooded his gut.

"Of course. How's Walter doing with the bodies?"

Peter peered into the lab, where he could see that Walter now stood over one of the bodies, his face just inches from the victim's. "I'll give you a definite answer after he's finished sharing air-space with them."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not." He could sense her smiling on the other end of the line.

"Okay, well, we'll be back there soon. We're just a few minutes away."

He had been about to wish her farewell when a loud noise over the line forced him to wrench the phone from his ear, dull pain now throbbing through it. A sense of dread came over him as his mind quickly processed the possibilities. The noise had been a sort of _crack_, and he tentatively placed the phone near his head again, shouting,

"Olivia? Are you alright?"

There was no answer.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or Fringe.

* * *

Chapter Five.

The conversation with Peter, however short, did much to brighten her mood. Just to hear his voice was a welcomed respite from the anxiety that had gotten worse since the visit with Broyles. And, saying goodbye, she'd actually had a smile on her face—the first real smile she'd cracked that day. But waiting for his reply, well, that was when things had gone wrong.

Olivia's hands were wrenched roughly from the steering wheel upon the car's impact with whatever had enough force to cause the back end to crumple in on itself. The windshield shattered, and glass rained down on them as the vehicle spun. She couldn't see, couldn't hear anything except a piercing shriek, and she put her arms over her head, attempting to protect herself from as much damage as possible. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the car had stopped, and there was no noise, save for the crackling of glass as the SUV continued to fall apart.

There was the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, and some dripped down the side of her head, catching in the collar of her shirt. Through blurry, pounding eyes she could still see Hotch beside her, his eyes screwed shut. Before she could turn around to see if Prentiss was alright as well, the driver's side door opened, seemingly of its own accord, and she was roughly pulled from her seat. She stumbled onto the ground, her knees nearly buckling. Whoever it was that had a hold on her tore her gun from her hip as well.

As her vision cleared, she could see more of them swarming toward them—men dressed in black fatigues and ski masks. Two others had Hotch and Prentiss out of the car as well, also stripping them of their weapons. She swung back her arm in a futile attempt to ward off her attacker, but it was to no avail. She was still disoriented, and the man was simply able to grip her sluggish limp and trap it behind her back with the other. There was then a sharp, prickling sensation in her neck, and the stinging feeling of a liquid running through her back. Then, everything went black.

The phone remained forgotten on the driver's seat. Peter could be heard through the speaker, still yelling,

"_OLIVIA!_"

#

When she came to, she was vaguely aware that it wasn't in her own, or Peter's, bed, as it had been the last few times she'd awoken. She also came to the realization that she was not in her own clothes, but in the distinguishing white scrubs that all their previous victims had worn as well. That fact was disconcerting by itself, not to mention that the cold, white room surrounding her was wholly unfamiliar. She pushed herself into a sitting position. Prentiss and Hotch were at the other corner, both still out. How long had they been here?

The entire room was void of any furniture; only white tiling and what she presumed to be a one-way mirror at the opposite wall. It was strangely reminiscent of the cell she'd been kept in while Over There.

Her tongue was thick in her mouth, and her eyes were still a bit glazed over—a side effect of the sedative she'd been injected with. That probably was going to be the least harmful thing going into her body for a while if she stayed here for much longer. She heard a groan come from the other corner, and could see Prentiss begin to stir. With a flash of black hair, she was up on her feet, as alert as she could be still under the influence of whatever they'd been given.

"What's going on?"

Olivia could barely manage a shrug. "I don't know. I think it's our UNSUBs."

Prentiss looked down at Hotch. "How long have you been awake?"

"A couple of minutes. I have no idea how long we've been out, though. We should still be in Boston, if the profile was correct." She ran a hand through her hair—the only outward sign of her apprehension at the moment. Prentiss, too, was particularly adept at masking her emotions, though the sight of an unconscious Hotch seemed to frazzle her a bit. It was lucky that the both of them—especially Prentiss, who'd been in the back of the car, which had received the brunt of the impact—hadn't been injured more severely. Sure, they were bruised up a bit, but nothing more than that. She knelt back down, her hands on his shoulders.

"Hotch, wake up." He didn't move.

"I'd say leave him be," offered Olivia, "he's not going to wake up until the sedative wears off. Nothing we can do about that." She felt badly for dragging them into this situation. And, that talk with Broyles had only added more tension to the air, and now it was nearly suffocating. Prentiss settled back, more firmly onto the floor, glancing toward the door.

"Hotch was right in saying that they felt intimidated when we joined the case," she mused, "but it's more than simple intimidation if they're resorting to this."

Olivia nodded. "They're trying to prove a point."

Prentiss looked somewhat surprised. "You're good with profiling too, I've noticed."

"Just because I'm not in the BAU doesn't mean I don't utilize it when trying to solve cases." There was a half-smirk on Olivia's face. "It's one of my specialties."

Hotch groaned from the floor, and Prentiss immediately turned to him, putting her hand on his arm. "Hey, you alright?"

He did not answer, though he let her help move him so that he was propped up against the wall. It seemed that his dose of sedative had been a bit heavier than theirs.

"What happened?"

Prentiss looked at him strangely. "The SUV crashed, and then they took us here."

His hands went to his face, rubbing at his eyes. "I know, I remember. I mean, what's going on now? Where are we?"

"Probably where they've been keeping the rest of their victims," said Olivia softly, scooting toward them.

"We have to find a way out of here."

Prentiss shook her head. "There's no use. There are no windows, only a door, and I'm sure it's locked. We don't have any weapons, and I don't think any of us—especially in this state—are strong enough to take down a steel door."

This was strange. Their captors had taken the time to change their clothes, to clean the blood from their faces. This was actually a good sign, though—they weren't going to be killed anytime soon. Their captors wanted them to be in decent shape, while meant they wanted them to last. For what did they want them for, though? That was the burning question. Now, they were being treated as lab animals, stuck in this damned cell with nothing but each other.

"They'll find us," said Prentiss, settling back next to Hotch, her back pressed against the wall. "The combined IQ of our two teams can be sure of that."

Olivia appreciated her optimism, though she did not share it.

The door opened, and there stood a man—presumably one of their captors. Instead of fatigues, he wore a lab coat, and was unmasked. Well, so much for believing that they'd somehow get out of there alive, because their captors obviously did not reciprocate that belief. He held in his clutches a woman, blonde hair stuck to her skin with sweat. Her eyes were wild, and she was doubled over, as if in pain.

The man smiled wickedly. "Here's someone else to keep you company, though she won't be able to for much longer." He released the woman, and she tumbled to the floor. He winked. "You're next."

The door was closed, leaving the three of them huddled in the corner, with the poor woman convulsing in the center of the room. Olivia scuttled over to her, placing her hands on her arms in an attempt to maneuver her to a recovery position as she worked through whatever was ailing her.

"Get out of here," the woman sputtered. "Whatever it takes. Get out."

"You're going to be okay," said Olivia, though her brows knit together in worry. There was nothing in the room that could be of use, and Prentiss was still supporting Hotch, who continued to struggle through the effects of the sedative, or perhaps, of a concussion he'd sustained during the crash.

The woman was then still, going limp beneath Olivia's hands. Olivia checked her pulse, gave a little sigh, then moved back toward the wall.

Some time later, a second man came in to retrieve the body.

#

He would've thrown the phone across the room, if he hadn't cared about creating more of a panic than he was sure was about to come. But he didn't. Instead, Peter hurried back toward the group.

"I don't know what's happened," he said, "but I was talking to Olivia on the phone, and now she's not there anymore, and—"

"The call was disconnected?" said Reid with a frown. Peter glared at him.

"No. That's not what I'm saying—it's not that simple. I'm not—her phone wasn't just disconnected! There was a loud noise on her end, and I think I could hear voices, and then nothing."

Walter, whose gloved hands were smeared in blood, turned to him. "Perhaps there was a disturbance along the line, some kind of faulty wiring." Astrid nodded her agreement with Walter's theory.

Morgan stepped forward as well. "Are you sure you're not just overreacting?"

Of all the times for him to be doubted, Peter thought this to be the one with the most impeccable timing. "I am _not_ overacting. I know what I heard." He stumbled over his next few words, overcome with anxiety. "Your agents were with her—you should be more concerned, instead of doubting me." Neither agent said anything—Astrid's eyes darted to and fro as if watching a sports game. "You have a technical analyst, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Can she trace a cell phone?"

Reid's reply was immediate. "Of course she can." Then he looked to Morgan, who already had his phone out.

Garcia answered on the first ring. "Hello there, gorgeous. How are things going on over in Freakyville?"

Despite the situation, he chuckled. "You should be glad you're not on speakerphone, Baby Girl. But seriously, now, we need your help."

"Anything for you." She laughed, still oblivious to the possible danger their fellow agents were in.

"I need you to trace a number for us, find the location of the phone."

"I can't do that if it's turned off, you know that."

"It should still be on. Hold a sec, I'll put you on speakerphone." He laid the cell phone on the table, and nodded to Peter. "Tell her the number." Peter recited Olivia's number from memory, which was a bit surprising to the others. They were used to speed dial when contacting their colleagues. Walter and Astrid shared a grin behind his back.

"Give me two seconds—"

"Really? That long?"

"You can't rush genius."

Peter's hands curled into fists, and he shoved them into his pockets. "I think it's enough with the jokes right now." He couldn't fathom how these men weren't as worried as he was—if not for Olivia, than for their own colleagues, at least. But they hadn't heard..whatever it was, over the phone. No, that had only been him.

"Okay, I've got it. The address is being sent to your phone as we speak."

"Thanks."

"Anything else?"

"Not at the moment, no. We'll call you if we need anything else. Thanks."

Peter was already headed for the door, and Morgan began to follow him. Reid made a move to stand as well, but Morgan held up a hand.

"You stay here, keep working on the geographic profile. Dr. Bishop and Agent Farnsworth, you should continue with the examinations of the bodies, to see if you can find out anything else. We have to catch these guys, and if they're involved with whatever may have happened to the others, then we need to do it as fast as possible. And Reid, call Rossi and JJ, tell them what's going on." Reid opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. He preferred the safety of the lab at the moment, anyway.

Peter grudgingly got into the passenger seat of the SUV. He'd rather be driving himself, but thought it best not to argue with Morgan, if he didn't want to slow them down even further. Morgan was a good driver anyway, he realized, and they were out on the road, sirens blaring, in a few short moments.

"You really think something happened to them? That it wasn't just the phone connection?" Morgan kept his eyes on the road, his grip tight on the wheel, as he spoke. "Maybe Agent Dunham just dropped her phone, and that's what you heard."

"Listen, agent, I've been dealing with technology way beyond anything you've even heard of for a long time, now. This isn't just some faulty wiring. Something happened—I'm sure of it." Morgan said nothing more, choosing instead to simply ignore the condescension.

They turned the corner, arriving at the street where the location of Olivia's phone had been triangulated to. Sure enough, there was Olivia's SUV at the end of the road, and as their own vehicle rolled closer, they could see that the car was totaled. The back end had been completely smashed in, and the front end didn't look much better. Peter leapt out before the SUV had even come to a complete stop. Morgan switched off the engine and followed suit.

Peter moved slowly toward the car, anticipating the worst. Glass littered the seats and the surrounding ground, and the shards crunched beneath his boots. There were no bodies inside, thankfully, but he could see Olivia's phone on the seat. There was blood, too—not enough to cause serious concern, but then again, no amount of blood was a good sign.

"It doesn't look like there was much of a struggle," said Morgan, "besides the initial crash. The blood could just be from the injuries sustained from the impact."

"Struggle—meaning, you think they were taken?" It was more of a rhetorical question, though Peter still looked to the agent for answers. He'd been dealing with more of the science during this case, having spent more time in the lab, rather than the psychology.

"Where else would they be? And, why wouldn't they have contacted us if something else had happened?"

"They could've been knocked out by the crash. Ambulances picked them up, and we haven't been alerted yet."

"But then there'd be cops swarming the area. No, there's no one." Morgan took a step back, sweeping his eyes up and down the road. "This street is pretty secluded, it seems. Nobody has even seen the accident yet." His eyes narrowed, and he turned his body so that he was facing Peter, his hands balanced on his hips. "You were so quick to assume the worst—now you're trying to come up with situations other than their abduction. Listen, I'm just as worried as you are, but I'm willing to face the reality of what happened. Why aren't you?"

Peter's jaw clenched, teeth grinding against each other. "Because I'd rather not consider the truth. But, I know that what you're saying is probably right." Morgan's brows rose further when he heard the word 'probably'.

"I'll get a crime scene unit down here to process the area. It's doubtful, but maybe they'll be able to lift a few prints, or find something that we haven't been able to spot."

Morgan had his phone to his ear again as he began to walk back toward their own SUV, but Peter remained on the street, searching for something, _anything_, that could help them find the missing agents. When Morgan was off the phone, he called out,

"Hey, we should head back to the lab."

But Peter shook his head. "Wait." He pointed toward one of the nearby buildings. "Do you think any of these buildings have surveillance cameras out on the street?"

Morgan thought for a moment. "It's possible."

"Well then, we should get a hold of those, too."

Morgan had to jog to catch up, since Peter was already headed for the building. Keeping occupied was the only way he wouldn't go mad.

#

"We need to figure out a plan." Hotch's grogginess seemed to have cleared some, and he was much more lucid than he had been upon first waking up. Though, that hadn't stopped Prentiss from glancing at him worriedly every ten minutes. But, with Hotch's words, she instead looked at him with confusion.

"I thought we already established that there's no way for us to get out of here—not if they keep us in here."

Olivia, who had been pacing the room once her own head had cleared, now stopped and nodded. "You're right. We need to get out of here."

"But how?" Prentiss was defiant. "We can't ambush them—there are too many. Do we even know how many UNSUBs we're dealing with here?"

"There were at least three who took us from the SUV—four, if another was just a driver," said Hotch. "But we can't be sure how many are here. We don't even know how large the facility is."

The door swung open with a ominous _creak_ before any of them could say another word. Two men stepped inside. One held a gun in his hand, loosely gripped in his fingers. He was comfortable with the weapon—he'd used one before.

"I sure hope you're not plotting," the first man said with a sneer. The other hung back in the doorway, watching. "You—" He pointed to Olivia with the gun. "—Step back to the wall." She stood her ground.

"Who are you?"

"Darling, in case you haven't noticed, I have a gun. I'm not afraid to use it—you're not irreplaceable, you know." Olivia relented, pressing her back against the wall, her palms laid flat against the surface. Neither Hotch nor Prentiss said a word. The three of them knew that this guy's threats were not empty. "Now, as long as you cooperate, you won't be put in any more pain that what you'll already have to go through."

Prentiss stood. "You can't just treat people as if they were lab rats."

"Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"Sure I did. Doesn't mean I'm going to listen."

Hotch spoke softly from his spot on the floor. "Emily, please."

"Tell us what you want."

The man stepped forward, twirling the gun in his hand as if it were a toy, until he was barely a foot from Prentiss. Olivia still hadn't moved from her spot at the wall. She would've attempted to get behind the man as he focused on Prentiss, but she noticed that the second man in the doorway also had a gun, though somewhat hidden, tucked in the belt of his pants. She wasn't going to risk getting shot.

The man raised the gun, now, and caressed Prentiss's cheek with the cold metal. She didn't flinch, didn't move, only continued to stare him down. "Keep talking to me like that, and you'll wish you hadn't woken up this morning." He moved the gun away from her face, then, a split-second later, brought it back to her cheek, this time with much more force. There was a sharp _crack_ as it struck Prentiss's flesh, and she stumbled backward, hands immediately going to the wound, attempting to stem the flow of blood.

Olivia nearly had to bite her tongue to keep from lashing out at the man—verbally, of course. Sure, she wanted nothing more than to take his gun to pistol-whip the son-of-a-bitch herself, but she knew that wasn't going to be possible, especially not when he had backup. Hotch was still unable to stand, the sedative continuing to work its way through his system.

The first man stepped back toward the door, seemingly unaffected by his own violent actions. "Agent Hotchner," he said, "can you stand?" Hotch shook his head, and the man turned to his companion. "Looks like we'll have to adjust the dosage next time we get a man his size. Someone gave him too much." The second man grunted his assent. "Get someone else, take him to Room 1." The man grunted again, and disappeared into the hall. The first man turned to the three of them. "That little cut is the least I could do to you, remember that." He smirked. "Agent Hotchner's going to be leaving you for a while, but don't worry—this won't be the last time you see him."

Prentiss shook her head, then instantly regretted the action as pain flashed through her face. "You're not taking him anywhere."

The man's eyes grew cold. "I thought you'd learned your lesson. Keep your words to yourself, or I'll make sure to shut you up." He shot Olivia warning glare, and she kept her mouth clamped shut.

The second man returned with a third, and the two of them moved toward Hotch. He fought them, though his struggles were futile, as he could barely move—it was as if weights had been attached to his limbs. They got him to his feet, then half-dragged him from the room. The first man followed them out the door, though he did say one more thing before he shut the door.

"Don't think you two are getting off easy. You're next."

* * *

Author's Note: This was harder to write than I thought it would be. I hope it's sufficient. There are so many characters to deal with; it gets hard to include them all. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or Fringe.

* * *

Chapter Six.

"I'm sorry." Those were the first words out of Olivia's mouth once the two of them were alone. Prentiss still clutched her face, and though the bleeding had slowed, blood still dripped from her fingers, staining the front of her scrubs, and the tiles beneath her. Olivia tore a strip of fabric from the hem of her shirt, and balled it up. Prentiss took it, pressed it against the wound, before giving Olivia a strange look.

"Why?"

A glum smirk crossed Olivia's face. "Because, if I hadn't brought your team in on the case, you wouldn't be in this situation right now—and neither would your boss."

"This isn't your fault." She grimaced as she sopped up more of the blood, the makeshift bandage already soaked halfway through. The wound wasn't too bad; facial wounds simply bled more. She wasn't too worried. "You know, you've been keeping a pretty level head about all this."

"Speak for yourself." Her brows rose. "I'm used to things like this."

Prentiss merely shrugged. "This isn't the first time I've been in a situation like this one. I'm guessing it's not yours either."

Olivia smiled a sad smile. "You have no idea."

They both slid to the floor. The bleeding had slowed a bit, and some of the color was returning to Prentiss's face.

"Hotch was right," she began, "we need a—"

Olivia hastily pressed a finger to her own lips, effectively quieting Prentiss as well. She shook her head. "Don't."

"What?"

And Olivia leaned in close, putting a hand over Prentiss's where it rest on her forehead, acting as if she were helping to mop up the blood. Her words were now no more than a whisper, if that. "The last time we talked about a plan, they came right in. I think they have audio on us, as well as a visual. But I agree." And then she sat back, and removed her hand. "How's your head?"

Prentiss eyed Olivia furtively, as if she did not completely trust the agent. Sure, trust would've been conducive to forming a plan if they wanted to get out of there, of course, but then again, Olivia Dunham did not seem as if she had told her or her team the whole truth. This all seemed so strange—it made sense for them to be abducted, while at the same time it _did not_. "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt much." That wasn't completely a lie, though Olivia did not seem to believe her.

"Good."

The problem was finding a way to communicate without their captors overhearing them. Tampering with the device that allowed them to hear their voices, if they could even find it, would only arouse suspicion. They had nothing—no paper, or writing utensils—with which they could communicate silently. They only had themselves. Whispering would evoke suspicion as well.

Neither agent was particularly good at just sitting around, waiting for an opportunity to cross their path. Though they both stayed seated, their eyes scrutinized every inch of the bare room, searching for something, _any_thing.

#

Everyone, sans the three who had been taken, and JJ and Rossi, who were still fighting the press, was again gathered in the Harvard lab. The demeanor of the group, though, had changed considerably since the last time they had all been together. While Peter had, at first, been the only one to believe that the three agents had been taken by their UNSUBs, with the new evidence—specifically, the SUV, and the surveillance tapes that they had managed to procure from the nearby buildings—had convinced the rest of them that this hadn't just been a coincidental event.

The owner of a building that had a surveillance camera aimed toward the road had been more than compliant in handing over the tapes. The tapes had then been rushed straight to the lab, and they all crowded around the computer screen as Astrid brought up the video.

"What time, exactly, were they taken?" she asked, and Peter replied,

"About three-thirty. That's when I was on the phone with Olivia."

Astrid fast-forwarded the video, which began early that morning, to the time Peter had specified. She paused on a cap of the crash in the midst of occurring.

"Rewind it about twenty seconds," said Reid, from his spot in the back of the group. He towered over all of them, still able to easily see the screen. Astrid did as she was told. The video now showed a bird's-eye video of the SUV rolling down the street. Just as it was reaching the end, another vehicle—a dark-colored van—sped up behind it. This vehicle had a purpose; it did not even slow down before impact with the back end of the SUV. Both vehicles spun around for a moment, but it seemed the driver of the van managed to regain control and brought the van to a halt.

The SUV slowed at last as well, and as soon as it came to a complete stop, three men dressed in black exited the van and converged onto the SUV. They opened the doors, tearing the agents from their seats. They watched as their guns and badges were taken from them, and as all three also attempted to fight back. None of them were successful. The masked men moved with determination, and each retrieved something from their pockets. They watched as a syringe was inserted into the back of each agent's neck, and then as they collapsed, unconscious, into the arms of their captors.

Another man exited the van to help carry Hotch into the back. Olivia and Prentiss were tossed into the back as well, and as soon as their captors were loaded into the van, with the doors closed, the van was off, quickly speeding out of the frame.

Walter shook his head, gnawing anxiously on a piece of red candy. "This is not good. Not good at all."

Peter shot him a glare. "We know that. Astrid, can you see if you can get a closer look at the license plate on the van?"

"I can try, but the software on this computer isn't exactly advanced. It's not as good as what the field offices have."

Morgan had his phone out, Garcia's number already dialed. "Are you able to email the file?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Our technical analyst has all the software you could want. I'm sure she can get a lock on the plate number, and then run it through all the databases." He switched it to speakerphone as he told Garcia's email address to Astrid, and they barely had to wait five seconds before Garcia could pick up.

"And how may I assist you all today? Something interesting and freaky, I hope."

"Baby Girl, we don't really have time for jokes now."

They could hear the tone of her voice grow dull. "Why, what's happened?"

"Prentiss, Hotch, and Agent Dunham were taken by our UNSUBs."

She let out a gasp. "Oh goodness."

Peter had opened his mouth to intervene, and Morgan spotted this. He, instead, cut him short just as he was about to speak, and said, "Garcia, I know this isn't a good situation, but I need you to focus. Agent Farnsworth sent you an email with a video file attached. Did you get it?"

They heard the quiet clicking of a keyboard. "Yes."

"It's footage of the crash they got into with the captors, before they were taken." He spoke quickly, so that Garcia would be unable to interrupt, however severe he knew her reactions might be. "Don't focus on the actual accident. Instead, I need you to get the license plate number from the van, and see if you can identify who it belongs to."

"Okay." No witty Garcia response now—she was all business. Barely a minute later, she already had a reply. "The van…this license plate is not registered."

There was a stunned silence, until Reid squeaked,

"What do you mean, not registered? How can that be?"

"I don't know, my boy genius, but it's not coming up in any of the databases or registries. I don't know what to say."

Morgan groaned. "See if you can identify the van another way—maybe through reported missing vehicles. We'll call you if we need anything else."

"Will do. Get our friends back safe, alright? And do it soon."

"As quickly as we can." He pocketed the phone, then turned to Reid and Astrid. "Did you guys make any progress on the geographic profile?" It seemed that now, during Hotch's absence, Morgan had regained his position as head for the time being, and doing a good job of it.

Reid moved toward the map. "We still weren't able to identify an exact location, but we did manage to narrow it down to a smaller area where the place the UNSUBs are keeping the victims may be located."

"Smaller area," Morgan repeated pensively, "what does that mean?"

"It means an area of about ten miles," said Astrid, somewhat softly, almost sheepishly.

"Ten _miles_?"

"The area contains a lot of empty buildings, which is where we profiled our UNSUBs would be keeping their victims," explained Reid, with a wild gesticulation of his hands. "It'd be too conspicuous if they kept their victims in a highly-populated area."

"But we don't have any way to narrow it down further?"

Reid shook his head. "No."

Peter, still standing near the computer, crossed his arms and grunted. "So, we have nothing?" No one said anything, so Peter continued, "That's great. Wonderful. There are three agents trapped by homicidal maniacs, but we have no way of finding out where they are."

"No way _now_," corrected Walter, already making his way back toward the body they'd recovered at the last crime scene. "We'll find something, son, don't you worry!"

"Alright, Walter, have _you_ found anything?" Grudgingly, he too moved along toward the body. Morgan and Reid watched from their spot near the map, a frown on the former's face; a look of intense curiosity on the latter's. They were all worried for their friends and colleagues, and being about to do nothing but wait around did not sit well with any of them. But Peter seemed the most affected, and both Morgan and Reid had taken note of this, though they said nothing.

"I think I may have been able to identify some of the substances used by our—what was the name…UNSUBs?" Walter chuckled as he uttered the unfamiliar word. "Perhaps we'll be able to identify these men by the chemicals he used." He rattled off a list of the names of the drugs, some of which were unrecognizable to everyone except Walter himself. "These are very hard to get a hold of—I would know, I have some of them in this very lab here myself."

"Somehow, that's not surprising in the least," Peter murmured, turning back toward the agents. "Can your technical analyst run the names of the drugs, see if she can find out how someone could get them?"

Morgan nodded. "Of course. If you could write them down, I'll call her right now."

And once that had been done, Morgan moved to the side room to make the call, and Reid followed him. Astrid continued to browse through the computer, doing whatever she could to aid them in their search. Walter was crouched over the body, though he wasn't doing anything particular except staring. Peter stood there, fingers tapping against his arm.

"Son, you mustn't worry about Olivia," said Walter, after a few moments. His eyes stayed fixated on the body. "She's been in situations like this before—she always comes out of them."

"Walter, these guys are particularly ruthless. And, unlike the other situations, they're not holding Olivia for a specific reason, except for the fact that she's working the case. Once she fulfills her purpose, they'll have no qualms about killing her off. And, we don't know what that purpose is, so we have no idea how long she, or the other two, have before then." There was a look of concern coloring Peter's eyes—one that only appeared when he was worried about someone he deeply cared for. If he were being honest, his meager concern for the other agents could not hold a candle to his distress over Olivia. He knew that their colleagues were most likely just as worried for their agents as he was for Olivia, but still, he could not force himself to worry about them. Olivia was the only one on his mind—she was the only one he _need_ed to save. It was selfish, yes, but at the moment, he didn't care.

#

Before the two could figure out a more clandestine method of conversation, the door opened. Again, they were faced with their captor, but this time it was only one—the one who had struck Prentiss. He smiled, that wretched gun still clutched in his hand.

"How's your face?" he asked, with feigned sincerity. "I sure hope I didn't hurt you too badly. We need you."

"Yeah?" Prentiss huffed. "For what?"

"You'll find out."

"Why are you here?"

He moved further into the room, dragging a chair in and shutting the door behind him. He took a seat, and did not reply, so Prentiss continued assaulting him with questions.

"Where's Agent Hotchner?"

"Don't worry, he's fine—for now." He cocked a brow. "Though, if you keep irritating me, I might make him _not _fine sooner than necessary, if you get what I mean." Olivia stood, shooting Prentiss an indiscernible look.

"You need us, right?" she said, her brows furrowing. "So, why the gun, if you're not planning to kill us now?"

"Discipline," he said, "which you don't have much of now, I see. Sit back down."

She ignored him. It was a risky move, after what he'd done to Prentiss, but a plan was already formulating within her mind. "No."

"No?" He snorted, not with anger, but with amusement. "Did you not learn your lesson, even after what I did to Agent Prentiss? You want to end up _worse_-off?"

"Oh, I don't think you'll hurt me." Olivia reached out, trailing her fingers along the man's shoulder. She smiled softly at him, and though he merely looked confused, he did not resist her touch. "You know, you're not like the others. What is this, an organization that you're with? They're all so professional about it. You're different."

"So?"

"I _like_ different." This was an act she was putting on, attempting to pull the man into her trap. Prentiss had already sensed this, and kept quiet, watching the scene unfold. The man had allowed the hand holding the gun to drop further. It now hung loosely from his fingertips, dangling just inches from the ground as Olivia ran her fingers across his chest.

"You're fun," he smirked, "better than the others. The others just screamed a lot."

"I'm not the one that's going to be screaming anytime soon," said Olivia. She moved to straddle him, and he allowed her. Ah, what a trick to fall for. His mind and eyes were clouded by lust, and then, suddenly with pain, as she brought her leg down onto his crotch. "You are."

And he did, letting out a yelp as he dropped the gun, his hands instead flying to cover himself. Olivia leapt for the weapon, taking it before he could even focus on anything but the pain. She used it as a club, beating him over the head, effectively knocking him unconscious.

Olivia was already headed for the door, beckoning to Prentiss, who was now standing. "We need to hurry." The gun now clutched in her hand, she stood near the door, her hand poised on the handle.

"That was smart," said Prentiss, with a small smile, "tricking him like that."

"Thanks." And with that, Olivia opened the door, only a crack at first, so she could peer out into the hall. She could see no one, and so she opened it enough so the two of them could slip out of the room. It had been strange, acting like that, but her actions had been merely reactive, as she came up with a plan on the spot. She'd been undercover before, she knew how men like him were, and how their IQ's dropped when it came to their own physical pleasure.

It looked as if they were inside of a warehouse, but it had been refurbished, or newly built, because the hallways were a white tile, just as the room had been, and quite clean. They traveled toward the eastern end of the building, checking the doors they came upon as they went. They were all locked, and the darkened windows cut into the top halves of the doors told them they were empty.

It was only when they reached the end of the hall that they found an unlocked door, though this one was solid, without a window. Inside, it looked as if it were some kind of examination room, with raised metal tables lined up across the floor, and various medical instruments lined up against one wall. A man in a lab coat had been bent over one of the tables until he heard the door open.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

There was a bullet between his eyes before he had the chance to say another word, and he crumpled to the floor. Prentiss rushed toward the table he'd previously been leaning over. Strapped to it was Hotch, an IV stuck in his arm, and various monitoring devices hooked up to his body. He was unconscious. Prentiss prodded his shoulder, muttering,

"Hotch, come on, you have to wake up."

He did not stir.

"Agent Prentiss, we can't stay here. We have to leave." Olivia's voice was anxious, and she glanced around the room. None of the other examination tables were occupied, and it seemed that their escape had not yet been noticed.

"I can't just leave him." With a sigh of exasperation, she tore her eyes from Hotch, and looked toward the doorway. "I can lock the door, lock the both of us in here. You get out of here and get help."

"I can't leave you here—"

"Well, I'm not leaving him here, and we can't all stay here. Go. We'll be fine." She pushed at the dead man with her foot, flipping him onto his back. "Look, he has a gun. With the door locked and a weapon, I'd say I have a pretty good chance. I'll get him unhooked from these drugs, and wake him up. Now, go, before more of them come."

Reluctantly, Olivia agreed. "Fine. But, stay safe. Keep the door locked."

"I can handle it. Just get help." Prentiss offered an encouraging smile.

Olivia heard the click of the lock behind her once she exited the room. Well, they had managed to escape, only for Prentiss and Hotch to be locked up again, though it was on their terms. And Olivia was by no means out of the hot water, yet—though she was out of the room, she still needed to find the exit. And she needed to find it fast.

* * *

Author's Note: I hope you all are still enjoying the story. I've been trying to keep everyone as in character as possible-it's turning out to be harder than I thought it would be. Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe or Criminal Minds.

* * *

Chapter Seven.

There were no separate hallways branching off from this, and behind her was a dead end. Her only choice was to move forward, the gun clutched in her hands, held at eye-level. It was somewhat surprising to her that the building didn't have more security, and yet, she presumed that they didn't often have their captives escaping. Not one of their victims would've been the type to take the initiative to attempt to find a way out. No, just as the man had said—they would've been too busy screaming.

The end of the hall forked off into two separate branches, and she took the left, seeing as it was more brightly lit nearer the end. It would afford her less cover, but she was hoping that the light at the end came from some sort of window or door. She made it halfway down the hall with no trouble, trying each door she came upon on the way. They were all locked, and looked as if they had not been opened for a while. Her bare feet made little noise on the concrete floor, and Olivia prided herself on her stealth, until something wrapped around her neck and pulled her backward. The gun skittered across the ground, out of her reach, and her back hit the floor, knocking the breath from her.

A man, his eyes beady and angry behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, stood over her, sputtering, "What the hell are you doing?"

She did not answer—instead, she rolled to her feet, before the man could get a firm grip on her, leaping for the gun. The man was a scientist—he hadn't been trained, as the men who had taken them from the SUV had been, and had no idea how to handle her. He was merely attempting to impede her progress. And, though he was not the most agile creature, he was quite large. This fact was made even more apparent when he decided the best choice of action was to launch himself at her a second time.

Now, though, Olivia was ready, but the hallway was narrow, and she could not completely avoid him. And so, she instead lashed out with her fist, catching the man on the chin. Blood dribbled from the side of his mouth as he called out,

"Hey! Someone get out here!" Then, he said to her, "You're not getting away that easily, girly." She had managed to get the gun from the floor as he distracted himself with the yelling, but as she was in the midst of straightening back up, he flung out his arm, taking her around the waist and slamming her into the wall. His other hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand that held the gun, and he pressed himself close to her. "Hah, you thought you could outsmart me, that you could get away from here?" He laughed. "No one gets away."

She held her breath against the rancid stench flowing from his mouth. A man had appeared at the end of the hall, yelling down to them,

"Don't let her go!"

The man who held her hostage turned his head, and as he did so Olivia wriggled, maneuvering herself in his grip so as to free one of her hands. The other still held the gun, but the empty hand she used to smash into his face. Pain shot through it as his glasses shattered around her fingers—the lenses were large, but not thick, and some of the shards embedded themselves into his face as well. He yelped, jumping backward and covering his face with his hands. Olivia loosed a bullet into his head, and he fell to the ground. She did the same to the man down the hall. It wasn't her ideal method—she would've preferred to keep them alive, if only for them to receive the punishments they deserved—but that didn't seem like much of an option now.

She raced down the hall, now with no regard for any doors, locked or not, except one that would lead her out of this wretched place. Her only objective was to get out of there, _alive_.

There it was—a window, at a perfect height. The room that it was in was empty, save for a wooden table and chairs in the center. She presumed whoever was involved in these experimentations used it for meetings. But, the important thing was that it was empty, and she rushed to the window without a second thought.

It was locked. She tugged and pulled at it, but it wouldn't budge, and the lock seemed to be stuck in place. She took aim at the locking mechanism, pulled the trigger, and discovered she was out of rounds. Great.

Bending back her elbow, she slammed it, hard, into the glass. Luckily, it wasn't too thick, and broke easily with the impact. Ignoring the remaining shards that tore at her skin, and those that had embedded themselves within her arm, she crawled through the now-open window. Halfway through, she realized she had no idea how far she was from the ground. She looked down, and a sigh of relief pushed past her lips. Only four feet below her was solid ground, and she dropped to her feet.

In front of her was a stretch of road, and more buildings, though none looked occupied. A few had 'For Rent/Sale' signs plastered in the windows. She took off at a run down the street, keeping close to the buildings, hoping that her captors did not spot her. She did not slow until she was two blocks from the building, and confident that no one was chasing after her. There was a gas station nearby—it looked empty, but the lights in the store beside it were on.

Inside, a single man stood behind the counter. He had his feet perched on the counter, and was flipping through some gossip magazine, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He didn't look up as Olivia entered.

"Excuse me, sir," she said, surprised at how even her voice was. The man did not look up.

"Bathroom's in the back. You don't need a key, just go. Buy something on your way out."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, then brought her hand down forcefully on the counter. The man startled, bringing his feet to the floor with a heavy _thud_ as he glared at her.

"What the hell is—" His expression softened as he got a good look at her. "Are you alright, miss?"

She ignored the question. "I need to use your telephone."

"Why don't you sit down, I'll get you a glass of water, and make that call for you." It was obvious he thought she'd escaped from some sort of institution, they way he stared at her scrub-clad form. Olivia was adamant, her voice firm.

"_No_. Sir, I am a federal agent—" His expression changed into one of disbelief. "—and I need to use your phone right _now_." He still did not believe her, but seemingly thought it useless to argue with her. He reached behind the counter, brought out wireless receiver, and set it down in front of her.

"I'll get you that glass of water," he murmured, moving away from Olivia as she dialed the only number that came to mind.

It rang once, twice, three times, before the call connected. "Hello?"

She was suddenly breathless as she spoke into the phone, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the receiver harder. "Peter."

"Olivia?" His voice was a mixture of shock and relief. "Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

And she stalled for a moment, until she was able to recall the name of the street, as she'd passed a street sign on the way here. She relayed the name back to him, then said, "Agent Prentiss and Hotchner are still inside. Hotchner was drugged; he was unconscious, and Prentiss stayed back with him."

"Are you alright?" Concern permeated his voice, oozing through the phone.

"I'm fine. Just get to them. I'm safe, they're not."

"No," he said sternly. "I'm coming to get you. The others can go; they don't need me. Stay where you are, alright?"

"I will, Peter, don't worry."

The line went dead, and she placed the receiver back on the counter. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving her feeling exhausted and shaky. She slid to the floor, her hands tangled in her hair as she focused on simply keeping her breathing steady.

#

Peter hurried out from the side room, back into the lab, shouting,

"Olivia's safe! She got out!"

Morgan and Reid eyed him warily. The former said, "How do you know?"

"She called me. I know where the warehouse is—your agents are still inside."

Reid looked somewhat puzzled. "How'd she get out?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know."

Walter clapped his hands together, grinning. "What good news! Be sure to bring them all back safely, son." Astrid was smiling as well, though neither Reid's nor Morgan's expression had changed.

Peter had his hand on the door, poised to push it open. "I'll get Olivia, and I'll give you two the address of the warehouse. I don't know how you want to go in, but—"

"Wait," interrupted Morgan, with a shake of his head. "How do you know it's not a trap?"

"What?"

"It seems unlikely that Agent Dunham would've been able to escape, after their past few victims hadn't been able to. I think our UNSUBs would be more careful than that. And, why wouldn't our agents be with her, then?"  
"You don't know her. She's gotten out of worse situations than this before—"

"And so have _our_ agents." He held up his hands, shrugging his shoulders. Peter rolled his eyes—obviously, they weren't even close to understanding the extent of what Olivia had gone through. He didn't doubt that their colleagues had gone through some bad situations, but it was nothing compared to what Olivia had gone through. "I'm just saying that we need to take some precautions." Morgan turned to Reid. "Kid, you call JJ and Rossi. Get them to meet you with a tactical team at the warehouse, and get Hotch and Emily out of there." He jerked his chin toward Peter. "I'll go with Mr. Bishop to get Agent Dunham."

Peter decided not to argue, if only to avoid further delaying getting to Olivia, even if he wasn't too happy that Morgan felt the need to babysit him. And yet, there was that bit of doubt that flashed in the back of his mind—he sure hoped it wasn't a trap. He wouldn't be able to bear losing her, after he'd been so sure she was safe. She hadn't sounded scared, only relieved, and he knew she wouldn't have had the same tone if she'd been forced to make the call.

It was as if the SUV could not move quickly enough. Peter knew, from the slight tremor of his hands, that Morgan's feelings were similar to his own, in reference to the concern he felt for his own colleagues. The address Olivia had given them was on the outskirts of the city, and the ride was excruciatingly long, even with the aid of flashing lights to expedite their journey through traffic. Morgan's knuckles paled and he gripped the wheel more tightly as they narrowly avoided impact with a taxi.

"You honestly believe they're using Olivia to set a trap for us?" asked Peter, as they neared the gas station.

To his surprise, Morgan shook his head. "No. It doesn't fit the profile; our UNSUBs would tend not to draw attention like that. But, we do need to make sure we take precautions, because our profiles aren't always completely accurate. We can't predict their every move." The SUV skidded to a stop about twenty feet from the station. "You might want to stay here until I clear the area," he warned, but Peter had already exited the vehicle. He wasn't about to wait, not when he knew Olivia was just inside. Peter wasn't stupid, however, and he _did_ stay behind Morgan as they made their way closer to the building. There were no other vehicles nearby, and though there were windows all around the perimeter of the building, they could not immediately see anyone inside.

Morgan opened the door slowly, his gun at eye-level. It was he who saw Olivia first, still crouched on the floor beside the counter.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, eyes darting to-and-fro as he attempted to gauge the level of danger, if there was any. "Is anyone else here?"

She shook her head, standing immediately, though her legs were a bit shaky. "Only the owner." Morgan holstered his gun, and moved further inside, allowing Peter in as well. He was at Olivia's side in a flash, his hand cupping her cheek, his brows furrowed.

"You're alright?" She smiled half-heartedly and nodded. He didn't believe her, not with the blood that was smeared on her face and arms, and her torn scrubs. "How'd you get out?"

Olivia sighed. "It's a long story."

He took her into his arms, uncaring of what Morgan's opinion may be. He was just happy that she was safe, albeit obviously shaken.

The owner of the store approached Morgan. "Is she crazy?"

Morgan sighed, and patted the man on the back. "I think we all are."

Peter and Olivia had relinquished their grips on each other, though every couple of seconds Peter's eyes would dart back to her, as if to make sure she wasn't about to disappear into thin air.

"What about Agents Hotchner and Prentiss?" she asked. "Have they been rescued?"

"Reid organized a tactical team to head there now—" began Morgan and, sure enough, the sound of blaring sirens interrupted him.

"I'm sure they can handle it," said Peter, slipping his fingers around Olivia's. "Let's get you to the hospital. You need to be checked out."

And though she appreciated his concern, Olivia responded with an adamant, "No."

"No?" Even Morgan seemed surprised at her insistence. "Why not?"

"I don't know," she said, "I just have a bad feeling. I need to be sure everyone's safe before I go anywhere else."

"Olivia, come on—" started Peter, but a mere look from her was enough to silence him. He would trust her, however much he didn't want to at the moment.

Morgan shrugged. "Fine by me." He preferred to head to the warehouse as well, because despite his cool demeanor, it felt as if he were suffocating with worry over the safety of Hotch and Prentiss. It irked him that Olivia had made it out safely, and yet, she'd left Hotch and Prentiss inside. But, of course, he said nothing about it.

The three of them loaded back into the SUV and set off down the road. They were about halfway to the warehouse when Olivia suddenly said to Morgan, "Give me your gun."

He didn't question her, had already learned that she sometimes had strange reasons for her actions—reasons he wasn't sure he'd ever understand. He took his gun from his holster and handed it to her. "Need me to slow down?"

"No, keep going." She turned in her seat, taking aim through the back window at something neither Peter nor Morgan could immediately see.

"Olivia, what's going on?" said Peter. He worried that she had a concussion, or worse, and that something was screwing with her mind.

"I see someone back there." Sure enough, Peter was able to spot it—a man sneaking around an alley, ten feet behind the vehicle. "Morgan, I need you to slow down just a bit, but not too much. I don't want him to know we've spotted him." Morgan lightened up on the accelerator, and Olivia's fingers wrapped more firmly around the gun, her finger balanced on the trigger. "One-two-_three_." She pulled the trigger, and both she and Peter watched as the man near the alley tumbled to the ground, clutching his chest. Morgan stopped the truck, and the three of them got out.

Sure enough, as they approached the man, Olivia recognized him as the one who she'd knocked out earlier. Both Peter and Morgan held similar looks of perplexity.

"How'd you know?" asked Morgan. Olivia continued to stare at the man, so Peter prompted, repeating the question.

"How'd you know it was this guy, and not some random bystander?"

At last, Olivia shrugged. "I don't know. I just..knew." She scowled. "I should've killed him when I got the chance."

#

She did not leave Hotch's side. She removed the tubes and monitors from his body, and was right there, hovering above him as he woke up. He seemed to be in some sort of stupor, and was grinning dully at her as his eyes began to focus.

"Hello, Prentiss." His voice had lost its normal firmness—it sounded lighter, his mood more upbeat, though she knew it was merely a side-effect of the drugs. "You look nice. What happened to your face, though? Looks like it hurts."

"Yeah," she scoffed, taking a hold of his arm, "sure, I do. These scrubs are really attractive. I'm fine, it's just a cut. Can you sit up?" With some effort on her part, because Hotch wasn't exactly lucid, she managed to pull him into a sitting position. "How're you feeling?"

"Good." He stretched out his vowels as he spoke, and looked around the room as if he'd never seen it before. "Where are we, again?"

"You don't remember?"

He shrugged. "Are they coming back?"

"Who?" But he didn't answer, only continued to gaze around the room, his eyes glassy, his expression now vacant. "Damn," murmured Prentiss, "what the hell did they give you?" And she looked toward the door, wondering when they'd be let out of this godforsaken place. She hadn't wanted to let Olivia go on by herself, but she couldn't have left Hotch here. She'd rather stay captive with him, rather than leave him by himself.

There was banging on the door. "You'd better let me in there!" She didn't recognize the man's voice, but she knew it had to be one of their captors, or their captors' affiliate. "If you don't, I swear to God, you'll be dead as soon as this door is open." Prentiss said nothing, only leveled the gun toward the door. Hotch seemed to be fading a bit—the effects of the drugs, since she'd removed the drip from his arm, were not so prominent now, and were being replaced with exhaustion.

Moments later, there were gunshots, and then more pounding at the door. This time, though, she recognized the voice. "Prentiss, Hotch, are you in there?" It was Rossi. She hurried to the door and unlocked it, opening it to find Rossi, backed by a tactical team. His eyes clouded over with worry as he took in her appearance.

"Hey, you alright?" he asked, and after Prentiss nodded, he held the speaker attached to his shirt cuff up to his mouth. "Hey, JJ, I have Prentiss and Hotch here. They're safe. Once they're out, we can get the CSU in here for evidence collection." He turned back to Prentiss. "Get out of here with them—" He jerked his thumb back toward the tactical team. "—I'll get Hotch." He peered behind her shoulder at their Unit Chief, and frowned. "What's wrong with him?"

"They dosed him with something, I don't know what. I think it's beginning to wear off, though" The adrenaline was gone, and she was flooded with relief. She chuckled. "You might need some help getting him out."

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Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. Don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter. Also, I'm very open to suggestions-what else would you like to see before this story is wrapped up?


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or Fringe.

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Chapter Eight

They'd bandaged Olivia up, though she had not needed an overnight stay. Peter had been with her the whole time. Olivia was somewhat surprised by his level of concern—then again, she knew that she would behave similarly if he had been in her situation. Losing one another was scary to think about, and it have it nearly happen was unfathomable. She'd been given yet _another_ pair of scrubs, these from the hospital, to wear, since the scrubs she'd worn at the warehouse had been torn and bloodied.

Peter wanted to get the hell out of there and home, before they had to deal with any more of it. Olivia, on the other hand, needed to settle with the BAU. She found some of the team in the waiting room, as well as Broyles. He, though, sat on the opposite side, staring at his hands, choosing to ignore the BAU completely. When he saw Olivia, he stood, and she moved to speak to him first, and the three of them made their way into the hallway for privacy.

"I'm glad to see you're alright, Agent Dunham." Stoic, as always. However much it seemed that he and Hotch disliked each other, they were quite similar. "And I'm glad the case is over with. Everyone is either dead, or in custody. We made sure of it. The evidence collected from the warehouse is being processed as we speak."

Olivia nodded, pressing her lips together, before replying, "Good." And then she watched as Broyles sent yet another vicious glare toward the other team. She and Peter exchanged a look, before she said, "Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what's your problem with the BAU?"

She was relieved when he did not answer with anger, but with a simple explanation, though his words were laced with spite. "I'm not big on their techniques. I don't always trust what they do, and I still don't feel as if they helped much."

"That's not all, though. Something happened to make you feel this way toward them."

He actually smirked a bit. "I worked with the BAU on a previous case, a very long time ago, before the Fringe Division had even been conceived. Some of the people were different—it consisted of Agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Reid, as well as others you probably don't know of. Let's just say the case ended badly."

She nodded—she understood. "You weren't there, though, through most of the case. They are all very competent agents. It might do you good to reconsider your impression of them." She shrugged.

Broyles' expression softened just the slightest bit. "I may do that, Dunham." He nodded to her and Peter. "Get some rest."

"Thanks."

And as he left the room, Peter turned to her and said, "Listen, I know you want to talk to the other agents, and I need to call Walter. I don't think anyone's let him know that you're all safe, yet. So, I'll meet you in the waiting room when you're done?"

She reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, smiling. "Sounds good."

#

Prentiss's wounds hadn't warranted an overnight stay, either; the laceration on her cheek had been stitched up, and gauze had been taped over the sutures. Hotch, however, had not been so lucky. The drugs he'd been given were quite powerful, and though he'd been given something by the doctors to help flush them from his system, he needed to stay in the hospital until they were sure all traces of the drugs were gone. They'd given him a sedative inside the ambulance as well, because, apparently, coming down from the drugs was going to be a bitch. He'd been unconscious ever since, and she'd been at his bedside since they'd fixed her up.

It seemed the sedative was beginning to wear off, though, because she swore she saw his eyelids flickering open. Yes, they were—he blinked, coughed a couple of times, and the beeping of the heart rate monitor hastened.

"Prentiss?"

"Yeah, Hotch, I'm right here." He coughed again, and she stood, moving to the cart pushed to the wall to pour him a bit of water. As she handed it to him, she said, "How are you feeling?"

He took a sip. "Like it's a Sunday morning and I'm back in college." His expression was deadpan, despite the joke, though it took on a hint of worry as he asked, "What about you?"

Her hand moved to the gauze on her face, grazing the injury. "I'll be fine. Do you remember what happened?"

"I do, yes. Well, I remember the crash, and waking up in that room, but not much more than that. It's all a bit hazy." His brows furrowed. "Are you sure you're alright? Nothing else happened in there…?"

She settled back into the chair, patting his hand. "Nothing else happened, Hotch, I promise. Everything is fine."

"And Agent Dunham?"

"She's going to be fine, too."And a strange sort of look came over her face—pensive, and curious.

"What is it?" he asked, but before she could reply, there was a knock at the door. Both their heads shot toward the source of the noise. There stood Olivia, smiling gently.

"Mind if I step in for a moment?"

Prentiss beckoned with a wave of her hand. "Of course."

She moved toward the bed, though she did not sit. Instead, she stood at the foot, her hands clasped behind her back, her eyes moving from Prentiss to Hotch. "I'm glad to see you're looking better."

"Thank you; I'm _feeling _much better, too." He noticed now that Prentiss was looking at Olivia with that same strange look, though he thought it would be rude to ask of its origin in front of her.

It seemed, though, he'd be getting at least somewhat of an answer when Prentiss turned in her chair to face Olivia more directly, but Olivia spoke before she could.

"I wanted to thank you for your help on the case, and apologize for what you had to go through. I never thought the case would end up the way it did, or else I would've never asked your team to consult." She stood there, looking as if she expected some sort of chastisement—the guilt was eating away at her. But instead, Prentiss smiled.

"There's no need to apologize, Agent Dunham. Everything turned out alright." She seemed to forgotten about the laceration on her face, or so Olivia thought. "We're all fine—or, at least, we're going to be." She turned to Hotch, gave him a look, before again facing Olivia. "I think this case gave us…a new perspective on the world. I mean, I thought _our_ team handled gruesome cases; things that the general public didn't really know about. But, seeing what I'm sure is just a glimpse of what you deal with everyday, well…I don't think I want to know."

Olivia couldn't help the grin that crossed her face. "You're probably right."

Hotch nodded. "Yes, you are. I would certainly not be adverse to working with your team again if it ever came to that—and, if Agent Broyles agreed, of course."

"Oh," said Olivia, "I spoke with Agent Broyles, and I think he has a new perspective on it all, now." She moved forward, reaching out her hand. "We'll keep in touch." She shook hands with the two of them, and with one last goodbye, she left the room. Prentiss turned back to Hotch..

"Do you ever get the feeling," she asked, "that, sometimes, you have no clue as to what's _really_ going on in the world?"

"What do you mean?" He wasn't sure if it was the drugs, or if she truly wasn't making any sense.

"I don't know. I just feel like all of them—Agent Dunham, the Bishops—deal with things we can't even begin to fathom."

He shrugged. "Ignorance is bliss, sometimes. They're the unlucky ones that don't have that."

#

It seemed that the hospital was not the last place they'd be seeing the BAU. Rather, Reid and JJ had shown up at Walter's lab quite soon after Peter and Olivia arrived on their way back from the hospital. Reid had dragged JJ along with him, saying something about needing to get some things he left behind, but the liaison was pretty sure there was more to his visit than some forgotten markers and maps.

Of course, before they arrived, Walter had been ecstatic as soon as Olivia and Peter walked through the door. Astrid had left not much earlier, and it seemed in the time he'd been alone, he'd busied himself with a concoction of who-knows-what. He explained,

"If you're looking something that'll _really_ help with the pain—not that garbage the doctor's gave you—then this is the stuff." When Olivia assured him she was fine, he said, "You know, Peter was _very _worried about you, Olivia. I was too, of course, but Peter—" He'd cut him off before he could go any further, and she had smiled. That was when Reid and JJ came through the door.

"Oh, Dr. Reid!" said Walter, "I just found that article you had asked me about—the one about the incident in 1954. Agent Farnsworth had helped me locate it in the FBI's database, and I thought you'd like to take a look at it. The case is quite interesting."

Peter titled his head toward Olivia, his lips twitching with amusement. "Looks like Walter's found himself a friend."

"One almost as quirky as he is, too," she agreed, watching the scene unfold. It seemed as if JJ were just as amused, for she stood near the stairs with her arms crossed, looking both impatient and secretly pleased.

Peter raised his voice when it soon became apparent that the two were lost in conversation, and would not be stopping anytime soon. "Hey, Walter! We have to head home."

Walter held up his hand, his eyes still focused on Reid, as the younger man continued to chatter animatedly. "Yes, yes. Hold on a moment, son."

"Walter…" Peter warned, but Walter wasn't listening. He looked to JJ, who was shaking her head slowly.

"I know," she said, "but once he gets going, he's not going to stop. It seems like Dr. Bishop is the same way." She chuckled.

At last, the conversation ended, only after Reid and Walter had exchanged phone numbers—Walter had to be reminded of his by Peter. The ending was reluctant, but JJ nearly had to drag Reid out of the lab.

"He's an incredibly interesting man," rambled Walter, as the three walked out to the car.

"What exactly were you talking to him about, Walter?" said Peter, and Olivia nodded, wondering the same thing.

"He had read about some of my work a while ago, and I found one of the articles written on it, so I shared it with him."

"And this work was based on _what_, exactly?"

"Mind control."

Olivia frowned. "But, that was involved in our case, too."

"Yes, I know. Strange coincidence, but that is only what it is. I, of course, never perfected that particular method, though—"

"Okay, I think I get the gist." Peter cut him off with the slam of the car door, efficiently shutting him inside. He turned to Olivia, his expression softer. "You'll come over?"

She fingered the bandages on her arm, and smiled softly. "Yes, but we're _sleeping_." She grimaced. "Maybe I'll take Walter up on his offer for those pain killers—"

"Olivia…"

"I'm _kid_ding. I'll meet you at your house, alright?"

He leaned forward, wrapping a gentle arm around her waist, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. "Sounds good. I'll make sure Walter's out of the way."

He watched her move toward her own car, then clambered into the driver's side of his rickety sedan. Walter sat beside him, grinning widely. "I'm glad Olivia's back," he said. Then,

"Do you think _she'd_ like some crepes?"

THE END

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Author's Note: I've decided I have nothing more to add. I'm satisfied with how this ended up. Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing, etc.


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